Throw a bunch of diamonds onto black
velvet and you're bound to pick some over others, although
they're all very precious and beautiful stones. Everybody
has their favorites from these thirtysomething stories that
set the bar in the genre of Sword and Sorcery Fantasy. What
separates Leiber's lads from others of his era is the unabashed
working-class humanity of Fafhrd from the Cold Waste—a seven-foot, bearded
Viking type—and the sly, slight and slippery city-bred Grey
Mouser, who is all about coming around from behind with a plan
and stealing you stupid. They share a lot of disreputable pastimes
like drinking, wenching, gambling, brawling, and thieving others'
treasures, but ultimately hold to the codes of honor, duty
and love. Together, they are “two long-sundered, matching fragments
of a greater hero” (“Induction”, p.6)*.

The stories were written over a fifty-year
period roughly inhabiting the later half of the 20th century.
Around the late-60s, Leiber began gathering these
tidbits from their original pulp magazine publications and
organizing them into a chronological order. He filled in the
cracks with more tales until there were six story collections
and a full-length novel. Now, they've been compiled into even
tighter groupings with Book Club editions, Gollancz's Masterworks
series, or White Wolf's Lankhmar in 4-volumes, so
you can read these adventures in two or so bindings. But, true
to the spirit of the work, the first six volumes were distributed
as paperback originals before they saw hardcover—and some respectability.

So, be obliged to start at the start
with Swords and Deviltry. “The Snow Women” introduces
Fafhrd the Barbarian as he breaks away from the icy roots of
tribe and family. His mother is any adolescent's nightmare
crone, but be generous and shrug away the abandonment of his
pregnant girlfriend for an older, carnival courtesan. At this
point, he's just a big, dumb, star-struck teenager hearing
the “whole world call[ing]” (p.28), after all.

In “The Unholy Grail”,
meet an apprentice to a hedge-wizard named Mouse, who is “still
midway in his allegiance between white magic and black” (p.71).
But bale events force his choice to “the cat's path” (p.89),
therefore becoming Mouser not mouse. He is rapidly educated
in the foulness of murder, lust, and torture, reciprocating
with “hate fulfilled and revenge
accomplished” (p.94). Escaping to Lankhmar—that wondrous, imaginary
city which is more Ali Baba's Baghdad than Arthur's Camelot—the
two unlikely heroes make acquaintance in “Ill Met in Lankhmar”,
the award-winning, concluding story of this volume. Written 31
years after the series started in 1939 with “Two Sought
Adventure", aka “The Jewels in the Forest”, it sets the
tone and placement for future events.

Now, a crossroads, as the way gets
muddy in spots, solid in others. The next three collections—Swords
Against Death, Swords in the Mist , and Swords Against
Wizardry —are a minefield of gems and cut glass, jewels
and baubles. Mind you, there aren't any out-and-out dirtclods
here, but private inclinations will determine personal favorites.
And please, proceed gleefully, as there are plenty of shameful
obsessions, lusty perversions, mass hackings, and proper insanities
to temper any honorable adventures ahead. Leiber allows lots
of time spent in his fascinating world of Nehwon, so expect
puddles of roguish humor to sustain any long stretches, and
plenty of wordsmithy, grappling gooberments like: “the concourse
of trodden snow winding amongst the traders' tents was rackety
with noise and crowdedly a-bustle” (“The Snow Women”, p.54),
to keep the signposts appropriately anomalous and interesting.
Personal favorites from these younger days are “The Howling
Tower”, “The Sunken Land”, “Lean Times in Lankhmar”, “Adept's
Gambit”, “Stardock” and “The Two Best Thieves in Lankhmar”.

These early collections, besides being
filled with froths of earthy intent, beguilements and puzzles,
are also stage settings for the fantastic yet recognizable
land- and cityscapes. There is no Boschian vegetation or reptile-inspired
monsters roaming over blue dirt. The most familiar becomes
the city of Lankhmar itself, with its ominous backstreets and
distinctive sections like Murder Alley, Atheist's Avenue, and
Street of the Gods. It is rich in quirky cosmology, political
intrigue, and time-tested social institutions like prostitution,
thievery, and dead bodies. Beyond Nehwon's greatest city, there
are plenty of despoiled and treacherous landscapes as in many
Heroic Fantasy sagas. Follow the Duo down a well-sized tube
to the bottom of the ocean after treasure and “the sea- king's
girls” (“When the Sea-King's Away”, p.404), only to find worthless “ghost-gaud[s]” (p.405)
and near drowning. Or, climb the K2 of this world in “Stardock” in
search of “a pouch of stars” (p.14) and discover an invisible
race in need of regeneration by—gee, let me guess!—procreation
with its' two transparent princesses. Leiber even goes an extra
inning in “Adept's Gambit” and time-travels to 5th Century
BC Earth to pitch his own sly spitball of Haggard-esque, Lost
City fantasy.

Throughout these scenarios,
adversaries naturally abound. They are not so much the Demons
and Dragons of traditional Fantasy, but the diabolical, perverse,
and monstrously-savage twistings of the human animal. Sure,
Death as a character plays out through some of the episodes,
and there are creatures like the Devourers from “Bazaar of
the Bizarre”, but these are minor refrains. Sunken-eyed
Krovas, suzerain of the city's Thieves Guild, is memorable
for his cynical insight of “what is life but greed in action?” (“Ill
Met in Lankhmar”, p.134), and the poetic diatribe that follows
on how illusion is the autocrat's most useful tool for covert
domination. Then there's the “The Lords of Quarmall”, with
its brother-princes: closed-eyed, sphincterlike Hasjarl, and
the serpentine, Lector-confident Gwaay. They are the Yin and
Yang of Evil personified, feuding over that fungus-fouled,
stygian anthill kingdom fed stale air underground from “the
perpetual soft thudding of the naked feet of the slaves on
the heavy leather tread-belts that drove those great wooden
fans” (p.84). Add the
sadistic Duke Janarrl of “The Unholy Grail” and Lavas Laerk,
the ghostly psychopath from “The Sunken Land”. These fictional
villains hark to the all-too-human evils of Torquemada, Pol
Pot, Gilles de Rais, and H. H. Holmes. Leiber understands
that the truly frightening and destructive monsters walk among
us. Even now. Especially now.

Just as important as the villains
are the numerous females and the frolicks that pepper the pages
like strewn undergarments in a courtesan's bedroom. These couplings
range from deeply heart-felt relationships, to rescuing—or
not—dollies in distress, through
ribald dalliances with tavern trollops, lusty fellow thieves,
and wide-eyed milkmaids, to slippery and amorous dealings with
conniving, imperious bitches. Each Hero's affairs mirror his
partner's; that is, each pal gets a paramour of appropriate
nature throughout the episodes. Vlana and Ivrian, the significant
pair of 1st loves to these adventures, set the band of attraction—as
one needs to be protected and the other to be satisfied—but,
more importantly, they wed Fafhrd and Mouser's comradeship
through common ground and goals with the life-changing tragedy
that makes “Ill
Met in Lankhmar” such a popular setpiece of the series.

The novel entry—The
Swords of Lankhmar—acts
like a mid-life crisis to separate the youthful exploits from
the more mature ones to come. Indeed, it is a psychological
calamity for the Mouser, as one who is sensitive about his
diminutive size (especially next to the giant Fafhrd) is
shrunk to rodent dimensions to forestall a rat rebellion
threatening the corrupt but at least human governance of
Lankhmar. It contains all the hearty savorings that makes
the series endearing—a sea voyage,
wizard dabblings, robust battlings and intrigues—but it is
especially beguiling concerning the contradictory attractions
of amore.
Hisvet is the Mouser's rat dipped in catnip. She is nothing
but completely hypnotizing, confusing him between love with
lust as easily as shedding her human appearance for that of
the Rat Queen. Does it even dawn on Mouser when he's stripping
off his moleskin jerkins or ratskin moccasins that he's dropping
the dead relatives of his current object of desire? Leiber
is so fixated with this allure crossed with revulsion for the
hunter's traditional prey that he writes her into a second
voyeuristic viewing
in the final story of the series. Meanwhile, Fafhrd,
fighting his way back to Lankhmar, strikes up a bizarre yet
fascinating love affair with a girl Ghoul named Kreeshkra,
whose main amorous attraction is transparent skin. Leiber's
twinkling genius again plays his heroic pair off oneanother
by adding to their dual natures through their choice of female
fixations.

As the Twain
(Leiber's pet term for them as one)
settle into retirement
and the notion that they are truly “sundered halves of some
past being” (“The Curse
of the Smalls and the Stars”, p.64), their female counterparts,
Cif and Afreyt, describe themselves as “spirit-halves of the
great Rimish witch-queen Skeldir” (p.71). This final cycle
begins half-way through the 6th volume called Swords and
Ice Magic with
the story “The Frost Monstreme”. It starts as the quest to
defend Rime Isle from the ravishments of Wizards, Mingols,
and foreign Gods, then continues through the 7th and final
volume, The
Knight and Knave of Swords, themed to the replacement
of youthful bauble-hunting for the more mature responsibilities
of community, friendship, and family. In the end, the edges
of these personalities have turned to the center, rewarded
with quiet harmony and cemented into the whole with female
companionship. It was truly a grand life.

Throughout the series,
changes in style, tone, and structure keep popping up like
the Heroes' two cantankerous, guileful and mischievous mentor-wizards,
Ningauble of the Seven Eyes, and Sheelba of the Eyeless Face.
Beyond the tailings of Greek theater, contes des fees,
and the oral tradition of Bedtime stories, there are stories
within stories narrated by introductory characters ranging
from a demon-possessed twin, a child prostitute, and hobo gods.
Satire and Farce are common; most noteworthy in “the Bazaar
of the Bizarre” and “Lean Times
in Lankhmar”, respectively. Leiber rarely tells his tale from
a traditional point of view; he has too much of a wily sense
of humor for that. He is constantly razoring the edge for new
perspectives and insights.

Ultimately, of course, there's Fafhrd
and the Grey Mouser themselves. The un-romantizing of Leiber's
heroes is a pretty common diatribe, but consider it as an Americanization also.
Without lengthy historics, the Twain exhibit the anti-heroic
qualities of fellow-American Robert E. Howard's Conan of
the mid 1930s rather than Britisher Tolkien's hero, Frodo.
The Hobbits and humans of The
Lord of the Rings measure their adversaries solely among
Warlocks and Orcs—as if anyone outside of the Empire is not
civilized enough to be human—while Conan the Cimmerian fights
other manly warriors, similar to the English, the Asians,
and now—once again—the Muslims. Conan is a thief, mercenary,
and a pirate just like Leiber's boys. By comparasion, look at the punishment
Bilbo goes through for thieving the Ring in the first place.

Witness—as the great
Rod Serling used to say—that The Godfather is considered
by many the consummate American film these days instead of
last century's king, Citizen
Kane . The Declaration of Independence was based on breaking
the law of the ruling society. Our heritage is telling us to
get the job done regardless of the restrictions of the rulers,
and that the only code of conduct is your own, because others'—especially
institutions and empires—are corrupt and self-serving and don't
care about individual's rights and needs. These are considered
admirable qualities in our society, even though they encompass
the criminal likes of outlaw bikers, rap-singing ghetto gangsters, Soprano-angst
Mafiosos, Dr. Kevorkians, and Delta Force snipers. The American
Dream may still be about settlement, but Leiber understands
that the contemporary American Fantasy lies in the negotiation
by any means possible.

More importantly, though, is that
the Twain, by their physical contrasts and dialectical personalities,
represent the polarity running throughout the universe. Everything
in Nehwon is about the push and pull of antipodal forces, actions
and counter-actions, and that these opposites cannot exist
independent of oneanother. Only when the value of each is accepted
can balance be achieved. Certain magical objects hold this
balance of power in check, as do beings, ghosts, wizards, and
gods. Assignments such as in “Adept's Gambit” are given to
Fafhrd and Mouser by prognosticating wizards to restore certain
harmonies, just as rendered objects like the
Gold Cube of Square-Dealing
from “Rime Isle” are
placed to inhibit others, and, when removed as in “The Mouser
Goes Below”, cause dissonance. As Heraclitus stated in the
5th century BC, "that which is drawn in different directions
harmonises with itself. The harmonious structure of the world
depends upon opposite tension like that of the bow and the
lyre."

The brillance of Fritz Leiber's
acheivement is that he fashioned such a complex and comprehensive,
fun and fascinating, and wonderously imaginative vehicle for
this universal concept. He is credited with naming—and to a
large extent fathering—this sub-genre of Fantasy known as Sword
and Socercy. In my estimation, “Wits and Weapons” (“The Lords
of Quarmall”, p.143) would be a more appropriate choice.

Know it or not, man treads between two abysses a tightrope
that has neither beginning nor end.

—Sheelba of the Eyeless Face (“When the Sea-King's
Away, p.407).

*Stories' names cited only. All
page numbers are from the Book Club Editions, The Three of
Swords ( Nelson Doubleday ) & Swords' Masters (Berkley),
plus The Knight and Knave of Swords (Morrow, ISBN 068808530x,
1st edition, c.1988).